Pride and Punishment
by Sardixiis
Summary: No matter who you are, kid of a pair of spies or not, there are some things you just can't ignore. Sometimes you have to stand up even if that means accepting the punishment later. I'm McKenzie Campbell, and this is one of those times. Go ahead and bring on the punishment because I'm not stepping down. Not this time.
1. Chapter 1

**Pride and Punishment**

 _Author's Note: While Covert Affairs may be over I've had this idea in my head since before the show was cancelled and it just wouldn't let go. Also, yes, I realize Joan and Arthur gave their son the nickname of "Mack." Personally I've never liked that name, and I created this version of McKenzie before their nickname for him was revealed, so I'm just going to stick with my name. His personality is all my own making anyway._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

I'm McKenzie Campbell, sophomore in high school and possible dead man. See, my parents are either going to throw me a party because they're so proud of me or they're going to kill me. As in cut me up into a million little pieces and hide them around the city so I'll never be found again. Trust me, they could do it. Both of them are government agents and not at little things like the police or the FBI. They're both spies for the CIA. Yeah, that CIA. Believe me about the hiding my body thing now? But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm usually a pretty good kid and I follow in my parents' footsteps rather well. That, unfortunately, is what got me in trouble. It all happened this morning on the way to English. Not exactly the place you would expect your death to happen, but it's where I started my death march anyway.

Spies specialize in gathering intelligence. Being the son of two of them, I'm pretty good at it too (though on a smaller scale obviously). Reading body language and facial expressions is a beyond easy. Thank you mom and dad for being total brick walls in the expression department and giving me all that practice. Compared to them a normal high schooler is as easy to read as someone shouting out what they're feeling. Picking out a specific conversation in a crowded hallway isn't all that hard either. It does require a lot of focus and I can't do anything else while I'm listening in but I can do it. How my parents can do it while carrying on a normal conversation with someone else I will never know. It's freaking impossible. When I try it my friends end up royally pissed at me because I'm oblivious to the conversation we're supposedly having. Of course this time I don't need any of those skills to pick up the conversation happening in front of me. Dylan is a damn loud mouth even when he's not trying to get attention. This time he is.

Now if he were just trying to get attention for himself I wouldn't care. The guy's a talker and a pain and most people in school know it. Most of us don't like him either. He'll probably have a great career in politics with his ability to badmouth everyone. (If, of course, he's smart enough for that, which I question.) I can't stand the guy and I usually don't associate with him. He can talk smack about me all he wants. He's tried before and I've always managed to ignore him. Talk only ends up being truly bad when you allow yourself to be affected by it, to respond to it. Today I'm not so sure I can stop myself.

"You see her?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe she's actually wearing that."

"You would expect anything better? From her?"

The words and snickering, which pretty much everyone in the hallway can hear (that's his point I'm sure), make me want to shut him up. Seeing who he's targeting this time? That makes me want to take him out.

Megan's a quiet girl. Nothing really special but nice enough. I've talked to her before, though it was never a long conversation or anything. There are a lot of people who want to vie for my attention for whatever reason. Maybe it's because I'm on the varsity lacrosse team. Or maybe my dad was right and I've grown up to be a chick magnet like he thought I would thanks to my getting his charming smile and my mother's good looks. Whatever. It's totally not important. Megan was never one looking for my attention anyway. What is important is what Dylan is doing to her. He hasn't stopped the harassment yet. Sure it's not right to her face but she can clearly hear him and that hurts just as bad. Dylan knows it. Talking behind people's backs was his modus operandi. It was also what made him trash. As I watch I can see Megan curling farther and farther in on herself. Even someone who doesn't have spies for parents should be able to read the signs of distress. She's squeezing her books so hard they probably would have broken in half ages ago if they'd been even remotely fragile. Her head is buried down, eyes not even close to making contact with anyone, and she keeps trying to walk faster to escape Dylan. It doesn't work; he just talks louder. Asshole.

I would bet anything that she's crying or at least pretty close to it. She doesn't have the guts to stand up to him. Then again, nobody does. It's not like anybody else is standing up to Dylan for her either. Well, fine. Usually I don't get involved, but this time I'm fed up. He's going to be done, one way or another.

"Hey, Dylan," I call out, making pretty much everyone in the hallway stop and look at me. Like I said, nobody ever stood up to the creep. "Are you going to knock it off or do I have to hit the stop button for you?"

Megan's eyes flash to mine, looking even more shocked than Dylan's. Her mouth's even hanging open a little bit. And here I thought that only happened in movies.

"Z, what the hell are you doing?" Jack whispers in a panic as he grabs my arm.

Jack and I have been friends since middle school but he's only recently started calling me Z. He thinks it's cool. I just think he's being stupid. Whatever though. I've gotten used to just ignoring it.

"Telling Dylan to leave Megan alone. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I keep my eyes on Dylan. Eye contact like that can be intimidating, especially when the one meeting your eyes is coldly confident like I am. His words mean nothing to me (I wouldn't really care if everyone believed his false rumors and hated me) and if he chooses to use more than words it'll be a wrong decision on his part. Plus, I've learned my stare from two masters of stare intimidation. Out staring a high schooler is not very hard.

"You actually think she's worth standing up for, _McKenzie_? It's all true after all, but I guess girls just have to stick together, right?"

I just roll my eyes at that one. It's not even original. I've pretty much been hearing shit like that in one variation or another because of my name for years. _Years._ Taunts like that might have hurt me when I was eight, but by this point it's just damn laughable.

"You realize I've heard that since I was in second grade, right? It's pathetic."

"What are you going to do about it, McKenzie? Cry like a little girl?"

Like that was any better than his previous insult. Before I can do anything to respond he turns back to Megan.

"You want to kiss away your savior's tears? He's probably the only guy you're going to get."

"Didn't I say to lay off her?" I growl as I watch Megan's face go stark white.

My voice is getting loud enough to draw attention, likely teacher attention, but I don't care. I don't need any help in this.

"Or what?"

He's smirking at me like he knows there's nothing I can do and he wants me to give it a shot anyway just so he can humiliate me. It's just too bad for him that I actually do know what to do to deal with him, and he's definitely not going to humiliate me. I don't humiliate easily.

"Z let's just go. We'll be late, and it's English man."

Jack's already three steps down the hall when he says it. Honestly, he has good reason to be. You don't want to be late to Mrs. Murdo's honors English class unless you want a lecture about punctuality and responsibility. I can definitely live without a lecture. I get enough of them from my parents. Plus, I know how to be on time and I'm really responsible for a kid my age. Again, the whole spies as parents thing teaches you a lot. Granted I've broken two iphones this year alone, but that's a minor detail. It doesn't really make me less responsible. Who doesn't break their iphone?

I started this so I'm going to finish it. And finish it while making a point to Dylan. Hopefully I can do that fast enough to avoid that lecture from my English teacher, but we'll see.

"Or I'll put your cowardly ass on the floor and watch a real rumor spread around the school."

I leave it at that and head for class. If Dylan has any brains at all he'll leave it there too. Being how he rates around a five max on the one to ten intelligence scale I'm not counting on him letting this go. And surprise, surprise, I'm right. The idiot.

I hear a low growl from behind me and let my eyes flicker back without moving my head much. That is enough to catch sight of his hand shooting out to grab my shoulder. So he was going with methods besides words, huh? Fine by me. Any other kid in this school would have been terrified at the thought of a huge kid like Dylan coming at them ready to pound flesh. I have about as much fear of Dylan getting in a fist fight with me as Jerry would of Tom. The mouse won every time, and Tom didn't stand a chance. Tom and Jerry. Definitely the best comedy cartoon that's ever been made and probably the best that ever will be. What is better entertainment than watching a mouse beat up a cat in every way humanly imaginable all while being completely non-verbal? Tom and Jerry is a perfect comparison for this; Dylan has no better chance of winning than Tom. A smile flitters across my face at that thought, and I don't bother to even try and hide it. I could beat Dylan with my eyes closed.

So I knock his arm aside, which is enough to throw him slightly off balance, and sweep my leg out to hook my foot around one of his ankles. A quick second sweep of my hooked leg jerks his out from under him before hitting his other leg. With one forced shift of his balance and a fluid move on my part he's on the ground in a heap. It's hard to keep your balance after that and was near impossible when you weren't expecting it. A sixteen year old able to take another kid's legs out from under him is not in any way normal, but come on now. I'm not normal.

With my parents being spies there are people out there who want to kill them and won't hesitate to use any means to do it. I started learning self-defense when I was young. Like elementary school young. By the time I got to middle school I'd had teachers in various martial arts and combination fighting schools. I don't have enough interest in it to be amazing, but I am more than good enough to deal with a high school thug. My parents made sure I could handle a full grown man that might be attempting to harm or kidnap me. Dylan just did not come close to that. Like I said. I could take him with my eyes closed. Hell, I could probably do it with one hand tied behind my back too. I'm not bragging, just speaking realistically. He's untrained and has very little height on me. The extra weight probably isn't going to help him that much either since I'm not exactly a twig myself.

I glance down at him as he lies there on the floor and watch as his face turns from wide-eyed shock to bright red fury. People don't stand up to Dylan, and they definitely don't beat him. I just did, and he can't have that. The entire hallway had gone deathly still and silent when he went down. I'm not even sure anyone besides me breathed. That stunned silence only lasts about five seconds before it shatters into an uproar of voices. (Hey, we're high schoolers. Silence and moderated responses aren't our strong points).

Maybe if the crowd hadn't erupted into taunts, teasing, and praise for me Dylan would have just walked away. I don't really know. All I know for sure was he isn't going to let me come out on top. I could see it in his eyes, in his tense body language. I had knocked him off the top of the totem pole and everyone had seen it happen. He wasn't going to quit until he knocked me off even harder and reclaimed his place. I had warned him, but he hadn't been smart enough to take that warning and now look where we were. It wasn't like I wanted to take his place there. King of the mountain (or anywhere else really) is not where I want to be.

Launching himself off the ground, he comes at me with a slightly raised fist. He'd decided to pull out the big guns now. His talent is probably sawed-off shot gun at most. Relatively impressive, but it's just too bad that isn't going to be good enough when I am a freaking AK-47. I immediately shift my weight so I am standing more on the balls of my feet. It will let me move in any direction quickly and fluidly. Footwork had always been easy for me to pick up, and I'd learned this so many years ago that I didn't even need to think to do it. Automatic fight ready stance: feet spread slightly, weight balanced and a little forward, breathing even.

I see him coming toward me in slow motion. That's not just some weird fight thing. Compared to the people I've gone up against before he pretty much is going in slow motion. I've practiced with my mom before and when she fights you'll get hit with something before you even know it's coming. She's that fast. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how my parents aren't in their 20s or 30s with how fast they move and how good they are. Dylan's not that fast or that good. He's clumsy, but even clumsy punches can hurt if they hit a mark. His won't. When his strike comes close enough that I know there's no way he can change its direction I sidestep and give his shoulder a shove. He staggers a few steps, totally unbalanced. Could I have done worse? Could a professional pitcher throw a ball across the plate at a little league baseball game? The answer is the same for both: a resounding hell yes. I could beat Dylan and turn him around so much that he would be too messed up and confused to even cry for his mommy. Physically difficult, no. Morally difficult, maybe. It's not exactly like I enjoy beating people up, and I'm a smart enough kid to know how much trouble I'm going to get into for fighting. Heck, I'm an honors student. Reasoning out the benefits and possible consequences of fighting this piece of trash? Piece of cake. (Eating one, not making one. I almost burned the kitchen down trying to make one once, and that was a boxed mix. I still swear it was the timer's fault and not mine, okay?) So far my small attacks on Dylan haven't been anything that serious according to punishment levels. A shove is not the same as a punch. Hopefully after what I've already done Dylan will drop it and plan how to get revenge on me another day. If he didn't (come on, man, use an ounce of common sense for once) I would take that next step to hit with a closed fist. It would be worth it for Megan and all of his victims. Shit, it would be worth taking that step for the sake of all of his future victims. Someone needs to shut this creep down, and hard. It might as well be me. I could very well be the only one that could do it.

Dylan whirls toward me again, fire in his eyes. Even the cool, steady waters of my own blue eyes don't seem to deter him. I sigh. Dude, seriously? He can't even manage to scrape together a little bit of common sense?

"I'm going to kill you, Mickey!"

Nope. No common sense at all. Well, if we haven't drawn the attention of every single teacher in this wing yet we have now. Dylan's wild, raging shout had definitely been loud enough to do the job. Ah, well. If they're coming I better make my point before they get here so I don't waste the opportunity.

He is snarling like the monster he basically is, his fist raised high to pummel me as he races down the hall toward me. I take three steps forward and jab a fist at his face, snake-like. You can hear my fist connect with the side of his cheek. The crack resounds through the hallway, and I see every watching student back the heck up. Out of my peripheral vision I can see two teachers rushing toward us. They're still pretty far down the hall, but I lift my hands in a peaceful gesture anyway. The last thing I need them to think is that I'm ready to attack them too. And then I see the biggest idiot in the school become the biggest idiot in the whole city as he comes at me again.

"Oh, come on. Seriously? Haven't you been humiliated enough already?" I grumble at him, though I don't actually expect a response.

Sheesh. Well, I'm already in for the whole thing. Hitting him twice (and good enough this time to really end this) won't get me in any more trouble than I'm already in. I shift my target location a bit and strike again. This time there's a crunch, and Dylan howls and completely forgets about me. I manage to keep my immense grin of satisfaction internal. It just wouldn't do to look proud of beating up another student in the hallway, especially when that other student's nose is bleeding. I can see the blood dripping down his face, over his lip, and pooling in his hands, which he's keeping protectively curled around his nose. With that much blood it's rather likely that his nose is broken, but I didn't aim to break it. Not exactly at least, though the thought had briefly crossed my mind. Broken or not, he'll definitely be sporting a massive bruise there for the next few days. Dang, I hope his suspension doesn't last long enough for that bruise to heal completely. That's visible proof of his loss, and I would not mind that being paraded around school. Not at all.

"McKenzie Campbell! Dylan West!"

Ah yes, the dreaded first and last name. It tells you very clearly that you're in trouble and you better not dig yourself in any deeper. I know Dylan is dumb (how many times has he proved that in the last five minutes?) but even I don't think he'll try to continue this when the teachers are here. Whether he will or not I lift my hands in a show of peace again. Should he decide to be exceedingly stupid I can still dodge his punches. Adrenaline is keeping most of the pain in my knuckles at bay, but that doesn't mean I want to abuse them again and make the pain worse. Mr. Tailor grabs my arm, and I offer him a polite nod of acceptance despite the fact that I might have just broken a fellow student's nose. That's me, the politest kid in the entire school, which is ordinarily true. My parents raised me to be polite and I am. They also raised me to be competent in self-defense and hand to hand. Somehow I don't think this is what they had in mind for its use though. Screw it. I would deal with that potential mess later. My parents weren't here now and there was the chance the school wouldn't be able to get in touch with them anyway. One never knew when a world crisis might be happening without any of us normal people noticing. I would worry about the teachers and principal first.

"You're about the last student here I would expect to see in a fight, Mickey," Mr. Tailor tells me as he starts escorting me toward the office.

I like Mr. Tailor and definitely don't like the disappointment in his eyes and tone of his voice that I'm picking up. He hadn't seen the whole thing though. Maybe if he had his opinion would be slightly different. Either way, my opinion hasn't changed. I did the right then and I would do it again. We would see what the outcome with Dylan would be in the end and that would determine how beneficial it was. I had to think, no, I was positive that today would give him pause in the future. At least for a little while.

"It needed to be done. I had a good reason and nobody else was doing anything, so I had to."

Mr. Tailor gives me a bit of an odd look but I just stare straight ahead. I'm not proud of what I did but I'm not going to be ashamed either. As I walk down to the principal's office I'm going to hold my head high. I knew the consequences before I acted but the need and possible benefits had been too great. I'd made my choice and it had been the right one. Whatever came next would come, but my conscience was clean.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I'm so glad at least some people are reading this! I'd been worried nobody would be following Covert Affairs stories anymore. Enjoy your second chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

I swear the clock in the principal's office is broken. It has to be. The thing has barely moved, and I'm sure the secretary called my parents over a half an hour ago. Based on the damn broken clock it's barely been twenty minutes. Maybe not even. Personally I'm rather surprised the school even managed to get in touch with my parents at work. Of course I have no idea what number they actually used, but I suppose my parents had to give one that would provide easy access to them (even if that easy access required going through multiple people first). I'd thought at first when I was brought into the office that my parents would either be proud of me or have my ass depending on what they thought of my actions. Now I'm beginning to think they might be furious no matter what since my behavior would drag them away from work in the middle of the day.

There's nothing I can do about it now besides hope they'll understand. That doesn't make it easy to just sit here and wait. My knee is bouncing nervously up and down, and I can't help keeping an eye on the front window. Since my thoughts are definitely not focusing enough to figure out what to say to my parents when they do eventually arrive the window is my best way to pass the time. There's very little activity out there (which makes it an awful distraction for me), but eventually I see a woman heading toward the school. She looks harried and upset as she hurries toward the office. Dylan's mom probably. Go figure that his mother looks worried about him when he gets into a fight. Given all of the trouble he causes that just doesn't seem fair. It sucks even though I know life isn't fair. If it were my parents would have been home for all of my birthdays instead of working late or out of the country because of some international emergency. Fair just doesn't exist. Sucky but true anyway. I carefully cross my arms over my chest to hide my bruised knuckles. I haven't seen Dylan since the actual fight but it wouldn't take him pointing me out to his mom to guess who I am. I'm the only kid in the office and my knuckles would be a total give away. I don't know anything about Dylan's mom, but I'm not willing to take any chances. His personality had to come from somewhere. I'd rather not deal with an adult version of him with the way I'm feeling. Really I'd rather not deal with an adult version of him _ever_ but especially not now. She walks right past me without even glancing in my direction, thank the goddess of luck or whoever else is looking out for me right now. Hopefully whoever it is keeps up the good work when my own parents get here. I get the feeling I'm going to need every god, goddess, deity, or random other being of luck that's out there to save me when that happens.

Yeah, luck ends up screwing me. I hear a bunch of yelling, the slam of a door, and then Mrs. West storms over with one hand on Dylan's shoulder. His nose is the size of a small balloon and he's already sporting the beginning of two absolutely fantastic black eyes. Man I wish the rest of the school could see him like this. It would earn him the nickname Raccoon for the rest of his high school career. I barely (and I mean barely because one corner of my mouth might have twitched minutely) manage to conceal my grin over that thought. Dylan glares at me, which is hardly intimidating to begin with and even less so with the super styling black eyes. His mother, however, makes up for it.

"You! You did this to my son! I'm going to get you thrown out of school! You're a complete delinquent. A threat to every child's safety! Breaking his nose! No amount of apology could make up for that!"

I want to tell her that I'm not remotely sorry for breaking his nose but I keep my mouth shut. She goes on about how she's going to sue me and make me pay all the medical bills and on and on and on. I start tuning her out. I seriously doubt she's going to stop any time soon and the school officials are just as useless at controlling her as they are her son. She's in the middle of a rant about how I'm heading for a life behind bars (where I belong apparently) and how she'll be more than happy to put me there for my first trip when a large, warm hand settles onto my shoulder with a reassuring pressure. The calm, smooth voice that follows it is even more reassuring. I know the sound of my father's voice anywhere and I glance up to confirm my belief. There he is, looking cool and in control as always.

"I believe my son's future is still to be determined."

That's my dad. He can silence and take control of a room without raising his voice.

"Now I would recommend leaving Mickey to us and taking your son for medical treatment. I assure you that my wife and I can handle his punishments quite well."

My eyes shift slightly and there's my mom standing right next to my dad with a face as cold and hard as steel. Mess with her? Yeah, I don't think anyone is going to try that. Not unless they have a death wish at least. It didn't bode well for me, but at least her expression combined with my father's words manage to send the Wests on their way. One point for the Campbell family. Or is that two since I beat Dylan? I'm going to go with two. We deserve two. Besides, I need as many points as possible to start with so that when I lose them as this mess continues I won't wind up too far in the negative. From the look my dad is giving me right now I don't have enough points for that to happen. Yikes. The chances of ending up like a jigsaw puzzle just went up a few notches.

"Uh, hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Thanks for coming."

I'm all charming smiles and complete innocence. It does me about as much good as an ice cube in a hot tube. Toast, that's what I am. Utterly and completely.

"Of course, Mick. Because your mother and I love being called out of work to come pick up our suspended son," my dad replies.

I wince both because I'm suspended and because I know now this isn't going to end well. Not that I'd really expected it to, but you have to have a little hope. Yup, hope gone. Dad is definitely not happy. So far mom has given me nothing and from mom that's a really bad sign. She's got emotionlessness down pat, but normally she doesn't bother pulling that out around me. She and dad would much rather I see their disappointment and pride. Some sort of parenting strategy or something which usually works. Nothing only comes out when work is involved or when I've done something bad enough that they need to temper their reactions first.

"I'm sorry you had to leave work, but I'm not sorry I did it even if I am suspended. I made the best choice I could."

"You might be changing your mind on that very soon."

I probably paled a few shades at the icy fury in my mother's voice. Whatever last vestige of hope that they were tempering their reactions because they didn't want the school to know they approved are gone. Blasted away like a leaf in the face of a hurricane.

 _Remember, Mickey, they don't know why yet._

We're all called in to see the principal a moment later, and I take a deep breath. Despite what my parents' responses have done to my confidence I'm going to walk in with the same self-assured posture I used when I came into the office to begin with. My mom and I take a seat while my dad stands with his hand on my shoulder. This time I can't decide if that's reassuring or not.

"McKenzie, would you please explain to your parents why you are in the office? Keep in mind that I do know what happened," my principal says.

I grit my teeth over that one. I highly doubt she knows more than the basics of what happened. Given how much trouble I'm in already the best thing to do is keep my mouth shut about that last comment, but I can't do it. Hopefully a polite disagreement won't hurt me too much.

"Forgive me, but I really don't think you do know what happened."

Mom's eyebrow quirks upward. It's the only sign of disapproval she'll show. The principal doesn't even try to hide her anger over my response. Her eyes flash angrily and she leans forward, her mouth pinched in a tight line. Thankfully my dad steps in before she can say something.

"Then why don't you tell us, Mick."

I get the feeling from the tone of his voice that he's not overly pleased with me talking back (even if it was minor and incredibly polite) but he's trying to keep the peace and let this discussion run smoothly. For that I'm thankful. It'll probably keep me out of more trouble.

"Dylan was picking on Megan and didn't stop no matter what I said, so I took his legs out from under him."

"You tripped him?" dad confirms.

"Yeah. He got pissed off after that and came at me, more than once, so I punched him in the face to stop him."

I say it like it's no big deal, and really it isn't. The fight didn't start with me, and I tried non-violent methods to stop it before I had to hit him. What else did they expect me to do? Let him hit me? No chance. He's got a big enough ego without adding a victory against me to it (no matter how false it would be).

"Dylan claims you attacked with no provocation," the principal tells me.

I roll my eyes and make no effort to prevent it from happening.

"Dylan's lying. He's good at that."

Of course I'm a lot better but since I don't need to lie about any of this I don't have any reason to say or show that.

"Ask Megan," I continue. "Heck, ask anyone who was in the hallway. Everyone heard it."

Who knew how many people would have the guts to speak against Dylan, but maybe my actions have inspired some of them to stand up. The fact that Dylan's now in out of school suspension should help too. The principal looks at me, evaluating, and I meet her eyes firmly. I'm very serious and not lying. She should be able to see that. Luckily she nods like she does understand. I'm not sure I really believe that, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"Since you're not the type of kid I would expect to be in my office or one to lie, I will look into that. However, that doesn't change the fact that you were actively involved in a fight, Mickey," she begins. "You were really the main perpetrator."

Perpetrator. Yeah, right. Try defender. Or maybe responder. I was not the one who started this even if I was the one that caused the blood. I'm not going to push my luck by commenting on that one though. Unlike Dylan I actually have some common sense.

"So how long will he be suspended?" Mom asks.

She doesn't sound angry about it, but that really doesn't mean anything when it comes to my mother. Zero to holy shit is fully possible with her. Besides, she could be saving all of that wrath for me.

"Seven days."

"Seven days?! For one punch?" Dad asks in shock.

Okay, technically two, but I'm not going to mention that. Who needs an extra few days of suspension? Yeah, not me.

"The number of punches thrown doesn't matter, Mr. Campbell. School policy is seven days minimum for a fight."

Since I had known before how many days of suspension a fight got I'm not surprised at all, but I can see how my parents are so shocked. Before today I'd never gotten a suspension or a detention. At least not that they know of. I'm pretty sure I hid that one detention from them, but it's hard to say if I actually managed that. Nobody ever manages to truly hide something from Joan and Arthur Campbell. They just know things somehow.

Dad's eyes flicker my way and he glares at me.

"I think you'll come to regret your actions in seven days."

His words and the look he casts me send a chill straight to my bones. I'm apparently even more screwed than I'd thought.

"Nine days," mom corrects. "You have to count the weekend since those won't be included in his seven days of missed school."

"Somehow I think I'll regret it before then," I say softly.

I keep my head down as my parents apologize to the principal, which I definitely would not be doing. They better not ask me to apologize too because I'm not sure how I'll get out of that one. If they do ask I guess I could always just apologize for causing her trouble. That would be true and I wouldn't be apologizing for hitting Dylan. Again, not sorry for that.

I wind up getting lucky and we leave without my needing to say a word. As I head down to my locker to grab my things I don't say anything either, but I hear other people talking. Other students. It seems that word about the fight has already spread. I get a few hesitant smiles and nods as I pass. There is no way my parents are missing that. It should get me at least some points. Likely not enough to get me back in the positive, but at least I'm closer.

As we leave the school and I toss my stuff into the backseat of the car, I keep a close eye on my parents. They haven't said anything to me since we left the principal's office. I'm not sure they've even met my eyes since then. Now I've done a few things over the course of my life that have seriously pissed my parents off. Like the day I'd decided to convert our entire living room into my own personal "man cave" one day when I got home from middle school. When my parents had come home to what basically amounted to a massive fort made of pillows, cushions, and bedsheets they weren't happy. The massive number of extension cords running to a TV, my game system, and a mini-fridge I'd stolen from the garage and stuffed with a bunch of pop hadn't helped either. Neither had the pile of snacks I'd stashed there from the kitchen (which might have looked a bit like a burglar got to it when I'd been done). They'd absolutely blown up, but they'd at least looked at me (though at the time I'd kind of wished they wouldn't). And no, please do not ask me how I didn't figure out that I'd be drowning in trouble back then because I still don't know. My brain must have taken a vacation or something. Whatever. That's in the past. The present situation is that my parents won't even look at me, and that's really disconcerting.

It takes about a quarter of the ride home in creepy dead silence (no, they don't even turn the radio on – silence must be some secret spy torture technique or something because this seriously sucks and has to be some form of punishment) before either of them say anything.

"So you got in a fight at school over a girl," Mom says while she continues staring out the front window.

I sigh.

"No, Mom. I got into a fight at school over a guy acting like a piece of trash."

Almost as condensed in summary and much more accurate. She swivels around in her seat to look at me with one eyebrow raised. I offer her a half shrug since what I said was true and hope it doesn't make her even more upset with me. While I don't know how upset she really is right now, I do know that no matter how angry a parent is they can always get angrier. Always.

"You like this girl, Mick?" Dad asks before I can decide if I made Mom angrier or not.

How did Megan become the main focus of this? At this point I'm kind of wishing the silence had continued, as upsetting as it was. Both Mom and Dad are making it sound like Megan is my girlfriend or at least that I want her to be. I don't have any real interest in a girlfriend (unlike Jack who would probably take more than one if he legitimately could). My life is more than complicated enough without adding a girl to the mix. Just knowing when and how to access my family's safe house is more complicated than most of my friend's lives. I really don't need more chaos. Even if I wanted a girlfriend, Megan would not be my first choice. I'm pretty sure she falls more into the "acquaintance/fellow classmate" category than even the friend one anyway.

"Not like her, like her," I tell Dad in annoyance. "She's okay. Dylan just does stuff like that all the time and I finally got sick of it."

"Stuff like what, Mickey?" Mom presses.

I can tell from the sound of her voice that she's trying to calm me down, which is sort of weird, but I'm not really in the mood to calm down. I'm annoyed, my hand hurts, and I have no idea how mad my parents actually are. Oh, and I'm suspended for seven days with a parental punishment still pending. Goody.

"Like teasing and putting down other people just to make himself look good. To try to get more little followers. He likes to make people feel like they're losers, like they're insignificant, and he never picks on anybody that could actually stand up to him. He constantly talks behind people's backs, and I mean anyone's back. He's good at it because the rumors spread which only makes him happier and inflates his twisted ego more. The teachers don't do anything. Nobody stops it. Nobody says anything. Hell, a lot of the other kids just laugh along with him unless they're the one being targeted. It's probably just so he doesn't pick them next, but still… He's not the king of the whole damn school! I showed him that, and hopefully everybody else too. He's hurt enough people."

I'm almost growling by the end I'm so mad. I realize a moment later that my right hand is throbbing and I slowly unclench my first, trying not to grimace as I do. Clenching it was a very bad idea, not that I'd noticed myself doing it. I try and wiggle my fingers to loosen my knuckles and stop the pain but that only makes it worse so I keep my hand still.

Mom is still looking at me. I know she can read the pain in my eyes through the anger, but her face remains rather expressionless. There might be a small spark of sympathy in her eyes, but I can't really tell for sure.

"You're a smart kid," Dad begins.

Those four words sound like the start of a lecture. I definitely don't want to listen to one right now, but I guess I should be expecting one. It's kind of a given in this situation.

"Couldn't you have come up with something besides using what we taught you to protect yourself?"

That kind of makes me sound irresponsible. Like I misused my fighting skills since I didn't use them in self-defense. While that's sort of true, even the law has something in it about defense of a third person. I can't see how that wouldn't count now, but I'm not going into that with my dad.

"Sure, but I wasn't going to stoop to his level."

Dad looks back at me disbelievingly. I know my dad's a good driver and all, like getaway driver good, but it's still kind of scary to see him completely turned away from the road. Before I can tell him to please, _please_ put his eyes back on the road he does it himself. He might be looking forward again but from the set of his jaw I can tell this isn't over.

"And punching someone is more respectable than using words?"

I know the value of words and a good argument. My parents have likely averted tons of international catastrophes with a little bit of smoozing and a few well-placed threats. Words can do a lot of things, but in my case they would have been out of place and ineffective. At least using more than I already had would have been.

"Yeah, Dad, in that instance it was. He saw it coming and knew who it was coming from."

I'm not really sure if either one of them understands the upfront approach and why I needed to use it. They probably do most of their stuff in some roundabout, back alley way, but they've had to have faced someone head on at some point, right?

"We'll have to trust your judgement on that one, Mickey," Dad tells me, and I relax a little bit. After that I have to think that they do get it.

We fall back into silence for the rest of the car ride home. Or at least I do. Mom and Dad are talking quietly about something that has nothing to do with me or this incident. There's no point in me listening, so I spend the time trying to ignore the pain in my hand. I even spend time thinking about all of the work I need to get done and what the best way is to go about that just to distract myself. It doesn't really dull the pain too much but it's a good try and it needs to be done anyway. Being suspended doesn't excuse me from all of the assignments, and I'm an honors student. I'll lose enough points from the in-class assignments, and I want to keep my GPA thank you very much.

When we get home mom is out of the car and heading toward the house faster than I can even move. I can't help figuring she's off to collect everything from my room that's going to be prohibited for me to use from now until whenever I get back into my parents' good graces. I'm not about to say eternity because they're much more reasonable than that, but it's definitely going to take a lot of effort on my part to re-earn their full trust. I've at least lost some of it even if they aren't beyond furious at me. I follow Dad inside and we find Mom in the kitchen, which is definitely not where I expected her to be. Before I can decide whether I'm supposed to go straight to my room (no passing go, no collecting $200 – as if) or wait for the unpleasantly long lecture I'm sure has to be coming (because what parent wouldn't give one except maybe Dylan's which just sucks because he was the one who actually deserves a lecture) mom comes out of the kitchen with a bag of ice and a glass of water.

"Put this on your hand," she says as she passes me the ice. "It will help. Keep moving your fingers and your hand every so often too. That will help stop your knuckles from locking up too much."

I nod and settle the ice on my hand. The extra pressure isn't pleasant but I figure it'll numb away most of the pain pretty soon and I'll be grateful for that.

"And take these," she continues as she hands me first a pair of pills and then the glass of water. "They will keep some of the pain and swelling away."

As I take the pills she gives me a small smile. I can see the understanding and sympathy in her eyes now. No matter how much she might disapprove of my recent actions she still doesn't like seeing me hurting. I'd bet a reasonable amount that she knows how much your knuckles hurt after punching someone too.

"Now up to your room, Mick. Your mother and I have to talk."

About my fate. Lucky me. I shift my backpack further onto my shoulder and trudge up the steps. This is going to be an awful evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The next evening I hear the front door click open and don't even bother to look up. This part of the game needs a good amount of attention. Thankfully everything Mom had me do last night for my hand worked pretty well. I can use my it like I normally would. It only hurts when I touch it, accidentally hit it on something, or totally forget there was anything wrong in the first place and try to move it too fast or too much. My ability to play video games is not affected in the least. I keep jabbing at the controller, eyes glued to the screen, as my parents walk in.

"Hey," I call out, figuring that's a good enough greeting. A few more moves and I should be good to… "Hey!"

My eyes snap up to meet Dad's where he's now standing in front of the powered down television. He's giving me "the look." That look all kids know means they've royally f-ed up. Yeah, okay, so maybe being sprawled across the couch with a family sized bag of chips and a coke, playing video games on the first day of my suspension wasn't the best thing for them to come home to. Hopefully it's not going to make my still to be determined punishment even worse. Of course it's not like there's anything else I need to be doing instead.

"Would you like to rephrase that?"

"Come on, Dad. You turned the game off and I was just about to beat the level."

"I think you should be more concerned about the fact that I found you down here playing video games instead of in your room doing your work."

He sounds like he's trying not to scream at me but he seriously wants to. Control. My dad definitely has that. It only makes his anger scarier really, although this time he has no real reason to be upset. I'm not a complete idiot. When one is already in trouble one does not substitute doing homework with playing video games unless one would like to die. I averted death yesterday and had no intention of facing it again today. I still don't.

"I finished it all."

One of his eyebrows lifts in disbelief and disapproval.

"I did," I tell him with a shrug. It's true. I finished it all about an hour ago.

"Don't you have an essay for English due at the end of the week? One for a book that you haven't even finished reading?"

He's absolutely correct even though I'm pretty sure I only ever mentioned the essay in passing at some point. I don't have any idea how he knows I didn't have the book done. Spycraft, I tell ya. It can be kind of annoying sometimes.

"Yeah, and it's done. I finished the book last night and wrote the essay today. It was easy to write."

Dad still looks skeptical so I shrug again.

"You can read it if you want."

My parents haven't checked my homework since my first year of middle school. They just expect me to have it done and done well. If I'm not sure about something they'll help, but otherwise they just leave me to it. Dad shakes his head at that offer. He knows he doesn't need to read my paper and is just going to trust me that it's done. He also knows I'm not stupid enough to risk saying that when I don't actually have the work done. I may know he wouldn't actually agree to read it, but I also know he would find out about the lie should I tell it.

"And your other work?"

"Done, like I said."

"For all seven days?"

"Yup."

Almost all of it had been relatively easy, and I'm not the type of kid to slack. It had all needed to be done so I'd gotten down to work and done it.

"Good because you'll be starting your punishment. Seven o'clock tomorrow morning. Dress professionally."

Oh, shit.

O . o . O . o . O

I'm ready to go tomorrow promptly at 7am in a pair of black dress pants and a blue button up. That should be more than good enough for whatever it is my parents are going to have me doing as a punishment. Considering that they want me in dress clothes whatever this punishment is it can't be that bad. Boring maybe but not difficult. At least I wouldn't think so, but I could very well be jinxing myself on that one. I'm just finishing up my last few bites of toast when Mom drops a tie over my shoulder. Now I own a few ties for the dress occasions at school and the few fancy events my parents attend that I'm allowed to go to as well (though sometimes I wonder if going is more torture than it is privilege). All of my ties are fun because if you have to wear a tie you might as well wear one that makes you smile. It's a relatively even exchange for being uncomfortable all day. I've got a pretty cool one with fireworks on it and another that looks like a keyboard. My two more subtle ones are actually crossed lacrosse sticks and gummy bears. The designs are just small enough that you can't tell what they are unless you get close enough. Did Mom pick any of those for me? No, of course not. She gave me one of Dad's boring old black ones with a blue stripe. Talk about a double whammy.

"Why can't I wear one of my own?"

And why do I even need to wear one in the first place?

"You're going to be more than obvious enough at Langley without wearing one of your ridiculous ties."

"They're not ridiculous. They're awesome."

"They're juvenile," Dad says with a snort as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

Uh, yeah. I'm fifteen. Of course they're juvenile. That's kind of the point. Instead of saying that, since it will get me absolutely nowhere with either of them, I put the boring tie on and leave it really loose.

"Come on, son. We all have work to do."

He pats me on the shoulder as he heads for the door, Mom following right behind him. I slug down the rest of my chocolate milk hoping none of it drips onto my shirt and follow them. Sure this is supposed to be a punishment, but I can't help feeling slightly excited. They're taking me with them to CIA headquarters. How could I not be excited? Even with being the son of two high level officials I've only ever been to Langley once. I'd been young then and hadn't gotten to stick around very long. This was a pretty cool opportunity.

When we get there it takes absolutely forever to get through security, and I'm walking in with two people in high ranking positions at the agency. Airport security? Yeah, it's got nothing on the CIA. Once we get through all of it Mom hands me a huge red badge to clip to the pocket of my shirt. And here they were worried about my tie being obnoxious. This stupid thing could be seen from a mile down the hallway.

"Keep that on at all times, including when you're taking a break and eating lunch," she warns.

"Yes, Mom," I answer.

It's the CIA. That's not the place for any kind of flippant replies, especially since I'm a guest here. Dad ruffles my hair which I force myself not to comment on even though it's exceedingly annoying because, again, this is the CIA. I don't need someone ruffling my hair like I'm some little kid in the middle of the freaking CIA. Not that I want anyone doing that outside of the CIA either. My hair is long enough to be messed up pretty easily, and while I don't spend a lot of time on it I don't want that effort destroyed. I run my fingers through it a few times hoping to get it back into some reasonable semblance of what it had been. Thank you, Dad.

"I'll see you when we leave, Mickey. Work hard and behave yourself."

As if I don't already know that. I'm not insane enough to cause more trouble when I'm already in trouble. Plus, do I even have to say it again? We're at the CIA. I don't even want to know what they do to people who cause trouble here. I just wave to Dad as he gets on the elevator and follow Mom down the hallway. Most of the people scurrying down the hall are too focused on their work to notice the fifteen year old wearing a humungous bright red visitor's badge and a totally boring tie that's supposed to make him fit in. A few people glance in my direction, and I smile brightly at them. Nobody is going to suspect me of being suspended with that smile. As Mom starts talking I swiftly shift my focus from my surroundings and the other people to her.

"You'll be working on writing transcripts of some audio files while you're here. I'll introduce you to the agent you'll be working with, and you'll spend the rest of the day with him. And every other day until your suspension is over," Mom explains.

She says it like she's giving orders to one of her agents and not talking to me. Considering the situation and why I'm here I shouldn't be all that surprised by her tone, but it's still a little intimidating. If I didn't know her I would honestly think she didn't even remotely care about me. I was just a peon here to do a job when I was told to do it and nothing more.

"Okay."

Transcribing audio. As I suspected it's not really difficult work, just kind of boring. Depending on what the audio files were it could be at least somewhat interesting. I guess I'll find out when I get started.

I follow Mom through the building until she steps into a glass-walled office. The second she does the harsh lines of her body soften.

"Auggie."

Auggie Anderson's head shoots up, and his face splits into a wide grin.

"Joan. I hear you're going to be bringing me an assistant." He walks around the desk so he's closer to us and leans against the edge of it. "When's he coming? I need all the help I can get on this one."

Auggie's getting an assistant… My eyes flicker excitedly to Mom even though she's not looking at me. Am _I_ that assistant? Please, please say yes. That would be pretty much amazing. Auggie's been a family friend for a long time, and I've known him since I was a kid. He's awesome and a lot of fun to hang around. No matter what I'm set to do, if I'm working with Auggie this won't feel like a punishment at all.

"He's here right now."

I resist giving a shout of triumph when I hear that by the skin of my teeth but I don't even bother trying to resist pumping my arm in victory. Hey, I've got to celebrate in any way I can. I must have given myself away somehow though because Mom turns to look at me with one eyebrow raised. Immediately I school my face into the best serious expression I can muster. It doesn't fool Mom at all but at least she doesn't comment.

"McKenzie, you'll be working with Auggie. Think of him as your boss. You'll do whatever he tells you to do when he tells you to do it. No complaints. No arguments. Understood?"

"No complaining. No arguing. Just do what you're told. Yup, got it."

My face splits into one of my characteristic grins that make people both love me and want to punch me in the face. What can I say? I've got charm. Mom shakes her head at me and squeezes my shoulder as she walks past.

"Behave yourself," she whispers in my ear as she leaves.

Behave myself. Yup, no problem there. I don't know why they feel the need to remind me of that when I'm always well behaved. Except when I'm punching fellow students in the face… Yeah, okay, maybe I do get it given recent circumstances. Still, it doesn't matter and is completely unnecessary. I beam at Auggie and realize he's returning my smile.

"Come grab a seat and loosen up your tie," he tells me as he walks back around to his chair.

My eyes widen in surprise as I do what he tells me. How had he known I was wearing a tie? I wasn't messing with it or anything. That's about the only thing I can think of that would have given it away.

"How did you know I'm wearing a tie?"

"I didn't, not completely, but I know Joan. Stands to reason she'd make you wear one."

"Yeah, one of my dad's too."

"Kind of ruining my image of you with a game of Tetris on your chest."

I can't help laughing. Auggie knows about my tie preferences and seems to approve of them. I'm totally cool with that even though the approval is coming from a blind guy.

"So you got yourself suspended, huh?" he comments.

That brings my laughter to a halt right away, and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. I don't want a lecture from Auggie, but even more I don't want him to be upset and disappointed with me. He's a friend and I respect him. I mean, how could you not respect a guy who could literally take you down in a spar by flipping you over his shoulder and pinning you to the mat all while his eyes are closed? How could you not respect a guy who could do all of that and then offer to teach it to you? Yeah, Auggie's amazing. I don't want to lose whatever respect he has for me. I'm about to explain to him why I'd done what I had when he stops me in my tracks again.

"Good for you."

Say what now?

"Uh, thanks?"

"Hey, sometimes you just have to live a little, and there are some people out there who deserve to get the snot beat out of them. Now let me show you what we're going to be doing."

Like I said, how could I not like Auggie? He's awesome.

"That laptop and the headphones next to it are yours. There's a whole list of audio files on there. Our job, or really your job you poor sucker of a suspended kid, is to make a transcript of all of them. Word for word."

Okay, well that sounded easy enough. At least generally. There's got to be some catch somewhere, especially if Auggie needs help doing all of this. And he called me a poor sucker. That's a rather huge hint that I'm missing something major about this assignment.

"Am I allowed to ask why?"

Yes, as crazy as that sounds it's a legitimate question. At this agency the answer is more likely to be no than yes. Nobody gets told anything around here, and all of us who are sort of related but aren't part of the agency get told even less.

"Amazingly enough, yes. Don't expect that to happen again. We have to analyze the transcripts and look for key words and phrases."

I don't bother asking why we are looking for these phrases. There's no way I'm getting an answer to that. Of course it's not like I really need one. I've lived my entire life getting no information and learning how to use my brain with the few pieces of info I have. Why are they looking for keywords? To make sure no terrorists are plotting to blow us all up in spectacular fashion.

Still, there's one thing that I just don't understand.

"Can't you just put the audio into a computer?"

Probably a dumb question since I'm sure Auggie has already thought of that considering the tech guy that he is. He's also smart enough not to do work he doesn't have to do.

"Usually, but not this time. It has trouble with this guy's accent. Throws out a lot of false positives, which means it could easily be missing some real positives. It's just safer this way."

Right. Safer. They don't trust a computer to do the work but they're going to trust me. No pressure or anything. And here I thought this wasn't going to be too hard. Man I hope this guy's accent isn't that bad. Already I'm nervous and I haven't even heard it. I swallow hard and look at Auggie. The pressure of doing this right doesn't look like it's bothering him at all.

"What if I get some of the words wrong or miss something?"

I manage not to let my voice crack but it's a near thing. Auggie can probably catch something off regardless. He reaches out for me and nearly misses my shoulder before he touches it, corrects himself, and pats me reassuringly. Yeah, sorry. I'm glad he has faith in me and all, but it's not all that reassuring.

"That's why you're the back-up transcriptor," Auggie says with a grin. Like he couldn't have said that first… "We'll compare yours with someone else's and check the parts that don't match. Just make sure you get them all right because if it doesn't match I'm the one that has to go through it again."

I can't help snickering as I drop into the chair next to the computer Auggie had indicated earlier.

"Then I'll make sure I get everything wrong just for you."

"Do that and you're going to think a suspension is nothing."

That would probably be pretty accurate. Between Mom, Dad, and Auggie I would be toast.

"Don't worry, I won't add to your work."

"Course you won't. If you did I would hack your computer and delete that nice paper you finished yesterday."

I turn to gape at him in utter shock. How did he know I finished writing a paper yesterday? I don't get the chance to even ask him how he knew that since he already has his headphones on and is working away. He's still grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Spies. Sometimes they suck.

O . o . O . o . O

So this guy's… (Is guy even a strong enough word? No, no it's definitely not. I'm leaning more toward asswipe. That's more appropriate. Or maybe fuckwad. Yeah, I like that one.) This fuckwad's accent? Yeah, it's way worse than I was afraid it would be. I'm pretty much questioning if what I'm listening to is English or jibberish about every other word. Admittedly it's getting a bit easier as I go, but it's definitely not fun when you have to rewind the audio three times minimum for every sentence. About three hours into it and I've lost even microscopic thought that this punishment will be easy or at least not all that bad. To put it simply this whole thing sucks. Sucks to the level of a fifteen page paper on a book written in Old English that has very little plot yet you still have to find a whole slew of literary devices and figurative language that you seriously question whether the author meant to put in. That kind of sucking. At certain points during this whole awful endeavor I've wanted to just drop my forehead onto the desk and leave it there. Being how Auggie would totally hit me upside the head for that one I just keep working.

Of course about half an hour later that's a lot easier said than done. At that point I have to wonder if a knock upside the head would be worth the short break. I rub at my eyes and try really hard not to groan. I'm not sure if Auggie can hear me or not, so I don't try very hard to restrain myself. Even if I had tried I probably wouldn't have succeeded anyway. I'm just about to get back to this torture know as work when Auggie diverts me.

"Heads up."

I glance over just in time to get beamed in the head by a fun sized snickers bar. As I try to snag it before it lands on the ground I see Auggie holding a can like he's ready to throw that at my face. Immediately the candy is forgotten. I didn't get a black eye from Dylan; I'm not going to get one from a can of root beer. I catch it easily and pray to every being in the universe that might be listening that this won't explode all over me when I got to open it. Listening to this mind-numbingly awful accent is bad enough without doing it while covered in the sticky residue of a can of root beer. Root beer is awesome; wearing it is not.

"How did you…?" I ask.

"Know you needed that? Because this is about the time when you need some incentive to keep working on a crappy project before you decide to start banging your head on the lovely glass walls around my office instead."

I can't help snickering.

"I might have passed that point about half an hour ago."

"Well, thank you for not splattering your brains on my walls. I don't think the agency would approve of that style of decorating."

"And you don't want to face my parents while trying to explain away my dead body."

"I'd probably have just as much luck with that as I would getting your dead body out of here without being noticed. Let's try to avoid both of those. Jail is not a fun place, and I'm not feeling the need for a visit."

I can't help the sly smile that flashes across my face at the chance to tease Auggie. He just gave me way too good of an opportunity, and I am not one to pass up a good opportunity.

"And how would you know jail isn't fun?"

I say it in a clearly teasing manner with laughter edging into my voice. Instead of getting a rise out of Auggie or at least some ridiculous answer like I'm hoping he just looks at me rather matter-of-factly.

"Because I've been there."

My mouth drops open, and he turns back to his screen to continue working. By the time my brain kicks back into gear again he has his headphones back on, pretty much eliminating any chance I have to ask questions. Instead I file that tidbit away for later use. Maybe I can get it out of Mom or something.

O . o . O . o . O

I flop onto the backseat of the car after what was probably the longest day of my life. Considering I've spent entire school days on endless standardized testing that's saying something. I completely ignore the look Mom and Dad shoot each other across the front seat. A "you brought this on yourself" would not be appreciated right now. I realize Dad is looking back at me and meet his eyes.

Trying to forestall anything he might want to say, I grumble, "I swear if I hear anyone with close to that f-" I quickly stop myself from calling the guy what I've been referring to him as all day. "That guy's accent… Scratch that, anyone with any kind of well-defined accent I'm going to punch them in the face."

"You do realize that's what caused you to be listening to strong accents, correct?" Mom asks.

At least she doesn't say anything about my almost mistake. I'm sure she caught it and I wouldn't be surprised if she knew what I had been going to say. She does have a rather good point about the punching people thing though.

"Okay, true. So I'll kick him in the nuts instead."

Mom sighs and shakes her head at me while Dad breaks out into laughter.

"That would do it," he confirms.

I shoot him a beaming smile that only makes him laugh harder. Mom mutters, "Boys," which shifts Dad from laughter into hysterics and sends me over the edge into laughter too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

After a few days of work Mr. Fuckwad's accent actually sounds like English. That's scary. It at least makes the work easier though. I'm fairly flying through the transcribing now compared to what I was doing the first few days. I check one last sentence a final time and click over to the next file. The next ones move just as easily. As I'm finishing the fourth one I pause and scroll back up. Usually I don't bother, but this time there's a faint nagging sensation that I should. I have no idea why or what it is but I can't ignore the feeling. I can't quite figure out what it is that caught part of my attention even as I scan through what I wrote. Frowning, I read it through one last time before giving up. There's nothing off that I can see. Even so I can't help feeling the need to do a little more digging. It's partially because something feels off but partially just to give me some variety too. Besides, you don't just ignore gut feelings even if you don't know what's causing them. I tap Auggie's arm to grab his attention.

"Hey, what are those keywords again?"

"Party, celebration, fireworks, bonfire. There's a bunch more," he answers. "Why? You find something?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

None of those words sounded familiar at least. I shrug and put my headphones back on to continue working. I get about halfway through when I stop again.

 _I'm planning on going camping pretty soon. Hopefully I can get the fire started._

I frown at the words. If I hadn't already felt something was off (even though I still can't figure out what, darn it) I wouldn't think much of those two sentences. There's no keyword there, and they're ordinary enough. So why do I keep looking back at this? It's frustrating. Still without any answers, I hit play again. Nothing else in this set sounds off or even worth thinking about. I go back to the previous one. After a quick run through I find the word spark, which meant nothing to me on its own before, especially since it was used in reference to dating. A sick feeling in my stomach makes me think that's not really what it's referring to. This is a guy that's being monitored by the CIA. There's a pretty good chance that nothing is as it seems. When I read a little bit farther down I swallow hard.

 _I've got to go in to work on the 12_ _th_ _. Maybe I'll see you there._

Spark. Fire. Work. And a date.

"Uh… Auggie?"

I can hear my voice shaking and don't try to do anything to fix it. When we're talking about terrorist plots, dates are bad. Dates mean the plans are pretty far into motion and the final process is already being set up.

"Auggie, I think you need to see this."

It takes me a moment to realize that unless he has one of his amazing, how did he know someone was there, miracle moments he's going to have no idea I'm even talking to him since his headphones are on. And then he puts his headphones around his neck and turns toward me. Apparently he could hear me even with the headphones. I blink at him a minute, surprised, before I realize I'm being an idiot. He needs to see this. I couldn't waste more time.

"I think I found something, and if I did, it's bad."

"Well that doesn't sound promising. What have you got?" he asks as he pulls his chair closer to mine.

"None of the code words you told me, but individual words that are similar when you put them together. They're all used in different contexts though."

Auggie frowns, and I get the feeling he doesn't believe that a bunch of separate words are something to be worried about. I seriously hope he still feels that way after I show him everything I found. It's probably not anything anyway. I'm sure I'm just getting way too worried about nothing. It's just innocuous conversation about work, dating, and camping. Absolutely nothing worthy of real attention. This is all likely some figment of my imagination brought on by repetitive boredom. Only… this guy's conversations are being monitored and analyzed by the CIA. That's definitely not nothing even if they did let _me_ help with the analyzing.

"What words?"

"Spark. Fire. Work. There's a date and time in some of the sentences."

"Pull 'em up and show me."

He settles his headphones back on while I pull up the first section on my computer. I'll have to walk him through how to find it on his own computer since I have no idea how to use that thing he calls a keyboard. It takes a few tries of going too far and not far enough before I get him to the right spot. By the time he listens to all of them his face is a little less disbelieving and a lot more worried. Definitely not the reassurance I'd been looking for. Part of me really didn't want to believe I'd found something even though I was confident in the puzzle I'd pieced together.

"We need to go talk to your mom. Grab your computer."

He's already heading for the door, and I scramble after him. If we're going to my mom with this Auggie must be pretty confident it's real. Reassuring? Definitely not.

Mom doesn't even look up when we walk into her office. She already looks busy enough and here we are to dump more on her plate. It kind of feels like when she walked into the principal's office after my suspension, but I have a feeling that this time I'm bringing her a bigger mess than I did then. Your son is suspended and we found a potential terrorist plot aren't even in the same ballpark.

"Joan," Auggie calls and immediately her head snaps up.

"Auggie. Mickey."

Her eyes flick back and forth between us, but I can't read her expression. It's even more guarded than I see at home sometimes. I've learned that that expression means three things: something bad is going on, I'm not going to be told anything, and I'm probably going to be sent from the room.

I'm figuring all three are about to happen when Auggie says, "Show her what you found, Mickey."

I blink, momentarily dumbfounded. When I glance at Mom she raises one eyebrow. Basically I better get my act together and start talking. Fast. That's exactly what I do, trying to keep everything I say succinct and just the facts. The facts are the most important pieces and what she's going to need to use to form her opinion. Once I'm done giving those I can share what I thought, which should piece them all together if she hasn't done it already. I'm just about to give her my theory on the whole thing when she speaks up.

"Too similar. Probably not a coincidence."

"That's what Mickey and I thought," Auggie confirmed.

Mom nods but doesn't take her eyes off the computer screen I'd been working on earlier. I can see her mind working as she processes all of this and figures out how she wants to proceed. I'm barely even on her radar. Normally I'd think that was a good thing since I could still stick around, but it wasn't like she was saying anything I could surreptitiously learn from. In other words I'm just as much out of the loop as I would be if I weren't still here. When Mom finally looks up at me I realize I'm not going to be sticking around much longer.

"I'm sure you can entertain yourself with your cellphone in the courtyard, right, Mickey?"

Since I was already expecting this, I don't try to argue to stay. Instead I just nod my head and say, "Sure, Mom." Do I want to stick around and find out what's going on? Sort of, but do I really want to know the details of an upcoming act of terrorism? I'm not so sure.

"Here, take this with you," she says as she returns to her desk, rifles around, and hands me a few dollars. "You can get yourself some snacks too."

I grab the money and stuff it into my pocket, fully intending to scope out my chocolate options as soon as possible.

"McKenzie," Mom says just as I'm walking out the door.

I freeze and can't help feeling a little bit nervous. Every kid knows that when your parents pull out your full name you're probably in trouble. It's only used in serious situations. Granted a full first name alone isn't anywhere near the level of a first, middle, and last coming out, but still… I look back at her, not really sure what to expect. I'm positive I haven't done anything wrong recently, but I could be missing something.

"Nice work."

She gives me a nod, and I break into a smile that splits my face. It's so big that it sort of hurts, but I don't care. Compliments from Mom are somewhat hard to come by. My excitement is tempered a little while later when I remember why I'd just been complimented. This guy I was listening to could be off making final preparations to hurt a lot of people. At least it's in Mom's hands now. Whether we're right or wrong about this, she'll handle it. Knowing that, I turn my thoughts back to my chocolate. There's no reason to worry anymore. Mom's got it covered.

O . o . O . o . O

After giving the transcripts to Mom I got the next two days off. I wasn't totally sure that was a good thing since it meant that what we'd found was actually real. I had to assume everyone at Langley was focused on dealing with the mess of a potential terrorist set on epic destruction. They were all far too busy to come up with something for me to do. That wasn't really a bad thing since it meant they were all working on preventing someone from blowing us up. I get over the whole dwelling on possible destruction thing after the first few hours and use the rest of the two days properly – to enjoy myself. Video games, movies, ordering pizza, and making root beer floats the size of my head. The whole nine yards.

Of course I'm not going to completely escape my punishment because that would be way too easy. (Not that I've really considered my time spent at Langley as a punishment. I'd rather enjoyed it.) So the last day of my suspension my parents are dragging me back to the CIA for free labor… or punishment… or whatever they want to call it.

As we drive into Langley I can't help feeling like something is going on that I don't know about. Given that my parents are spies that's a pretty common feeling, but this is different. I just can't put my finger on what's making me think they're hiding something. They're not giving each other surreptitious looks and their expressions are totally normal. There aren't any silent conversations going on between the two of them either. I still can't shake my feeling though. When we get to Langley my suspicion is only increased. Instead of following Mom into the DPD like I'd done for the four days before my break, we all follow dad to the elevator. Weird. As far as I knew that elevator was pretty off limits. I mean, you need a freaking key card to get to the upper floors.

"What's going on?" I ask as I cock one eyebrow up in an almost perfect imitation of Mom. It's totally not intentional. I picked it up a long time ago and don't even realize I'm doing it. The look has come in rather handy though.

"A rather special event at Langley," Dad explains with a grin. "And you're invited."

Yeah, there's totally more to this than that. Even if I hadn't already suspected something his smile would have completely given it away.

"Right."

I can't help the sarcasm in that response. I can't help glancing over at Mom to see if she'll give me anything else either. All I get is one of her little half smiles. Totally frustrating. The fact that her eyes are almost dancing is even more frustrating. I manage not to grit my teeth and glare at them, but it's a near thing. Well fine. If they don't want to tell me about whatever is going on I'll just have to ask about something else. Something I want to know about nearly as badly.

"What happened with Mr. Accent?"

See? I learn from my previous mistakes. I didn't call him a fuckwad out loud this time.

"He was handled," Mom answers.

I groan and drop my head back against the wall of the elevator. That was such an amazingly descriptive answer. I'm so glad I asked the question. I understand why that has to be the answer (at least mostly), but still…

"Sometimes your jobs just suck."

It slips out before I can stop myself. Ouch. I'm probably going to be reamed out for that one.

"Noted," Mom says before Dad adds, "And don't think we don't already know that, Mick."

Well, that was definitely not what I'd been expecting. Apparently they both agree with my assessment. Maybe that shouldn't be that surprising (I know there are times when they get completely frustrated with their jobs), but it is.

I follow Mom and Dad off the elevator and through the hallway of the seventh floor. I've never been up here before and can't help looking around. There doesn't seem to be anyone up here, and our footsteps echo along the corridor. As Dad opens one of the doors at the end of the hall Mom's hand settles onto my upper back. I glance over at her curiously and find her smiling back at me. Proudly maybe? She nods toward the door and I put that question on the back burner as I follow Dad into the room. Immediately I find out where everybody is. The entire room is full and everyone is looking at us as we walk in. Correction. They're all looking at me, all except for Auggie and he's at least looking in my general direction. Creepy? Oh hell yes. I slam on the brakes fast enough that Mom has to give me a little shove forward. When I glance at her uncertainly she squeezes my shoulder and smiles. Someone must have hit the off switch on my brain because I can't seem to figure out what's going on.

"McKenzie."

My eyes snap to Dad where he's standing at the front of the room. Everyone there suddenly falls silent.

"The Central Intelligence Agency would like to present you with the Award for Service Excellence for your identification of a potential terrorist."

I'm pretty sure my mouth literally drops open and stays that way as Dad places the small plaque into my hands. At first the award barely even registers. The guy I'd been listening to for days had actually been a terrorist. Even though the whole thing is over now (like Mom said, he was handled), it still makes my stomach clench uncomfortably. How bad would it have been if nobody had caught it? Dad's hands settle onto my shoulders, and I look up at him. He must have seen the unease in my eyes. I don't doubt that he knows exactly what's running through my head. He's always been able to read me.

"I'm proud of you, Mickey."

His eyes meet mine firmly. _Let it go. It's over now and everything is fine. Be proud of what you've done._ He doesn't need words. I grin at him, totally willing to do what he's telling me. Dealing with the outcome of a suspension is bad enough. Adding terrorists to that isn't necessary. Besides, it's already over. I don't have to worry about someone potentially blowing me up. I can just go back to being almost completely oblivious like the rest of society. It's not a bad prospect at all. Plus, I know Mom, Dad, and their team are here to handle whatever I don't know about. Totally works for me. I glance down at the plaque in my hands and can't help feeling a swell of pride. I was behind all of this. The grin comes unintentionally. The plaque's not big, but there's definitely something about it. An award for excellent service to the Central Intelligence Agency is going to look pretty damn cool hung up in my room.

"Come on, son," Dad tells me, dragging my eyes away from the award. "Let's go eat and mingle. Everyone loves a good party. Ah, but before we do… I'm guessing I don't need to mention that you can't discuss anything about this with anyone if someone outside of this room is present."

He's right. He hadn't needed to tell me that.

"Got it," I say anyway.

"And if someone asks about how you spent your suspension…"

"I say I had to help my mom at work every day. It was boring, but it could have been worse."

Dad grins and pats my shoulder. He doesn't need to tell me anything. If I can handle identifying a terror plot I can handle knowing what I can and cannot say to people outside of the agency.

"Good. Now go eat."

I beam at him, not needing to be told twice. As I head over to the snacks laid out on a nearby table I'm still floating on cloud nine over my award. Food is only going to make it better, and nothing is going to ruin this for me. Nothing.

A short while later Mom drapes her arm around my shoulders. There's no mask covering up her emotions this time. I can see the pride gleaming in her eyes. It just makes me feel even warmer.

"I'm very proud of you, Mickey."

She kisses my cheek, and I don't bother to ask her not to do that. I mean, come on. I'm a teenager. I don't need my mom kissing me in public, even if it is only on the cheek. Today it's not going to bother me. Like I said, nothing is going to bring me down.

"Thanks, Mom."

She smiles at me again and gives my back a small rub.

"I hate to say this, but I need to take that, Mickey." She motions toward the plaque that I haven't allowed to leave my hand. "It goes back in the vault."

I nearly fall over in shock. What she's saying makes absolutely no sense. None. It's also the only thing that could possibly ruin today when I didn't think anything could.

"What? But it's mine!"

I don't mean to sound like a petulant little kid, but come on. You can't just give out awards and then take them back.

"I know," Mom soothes, "but every award has to go back in the vault."

Okay, so apparently the CIA could give out awards and then take them away. I hand the plaque over to her and try not to look as grumpy as I feel. Sure losing the plaque doesn't mean I'm losing the pride my parents have in me after this event, but let's face it, that plaque is cool.

"That's just dumb."

"I rather think so myself," Mom agreed, "but that's the way the agency works, and it has reason to work that way. Besides, despite how proud of you I am, I don't think you should be getting an award for something that was supposed to be a punishment."

I cast Mom a sidelong look and try to keep my smile to a minimum.

"A punishment in name only."

"Oh?"

Her eyebrow goes up and she doesn't even try to hide the teasing smile.

"You knew I would like this. That means you're not really that mad at me over the suspension, but you had to at least make a point so you punished me anyway. Or at least sort of punished me. A pretend punishment."

I smirk at her, proud of my reasoning. Of course it hadn't really been hard to reason. I'd suspected it for a while now.

"What's this about pretend punishments? I didn't know anybody gave those out," Dad comments as he comes over to join us.

"You do, apparently," I tease.

Dad's smile tells me all I need to know about how accurate my assessment was.

"Apparently. Did your mother tell you that award has to stay here?"

I roll my eyes at him. That would be why I'm not holding it anymore. Saying that would likely get me into the trouble I miraculously avoided after my suspension, so I go with a response that's slightly more respectful.

"Yeah, but it's still the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. It makes no sense."

Laughter draws my attention and I find Auggie standing on the other side of Mom.

"Trust me, kid. If anything makes sense at Langley you run as fast and as far as you can in the other direction."

Well, that was the CIA. Whatever though. Running in the other direction may not be that bad. I'm not even sure I want to work for the CIA anyway. Maybe I'll go with the FBI or NSA or something. Bring a little inter-agency rivalry to the family. Who knows? That could be fun.

* * *

 _Author's Note: And that's it, guys! Hope you all enjoyed it. I'm planning on working on a Madam Secretary fic next, but I just can't help thinking how hilarious it would be for the McCords and Campbells to meet. Mickey and the McCord kids? Could be very fun._


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